


Playing the Part of Princess Buttercup

by searchingwardrobes



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Forced Marriage, Stream of Consciousness, The Princess Bride References, season six
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 12:32:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7715065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Hyde is forcing Emma Swan into marrying him. But Hyde has never seen The Princess Bride. Emma has. She knows how this ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing the Part of Princess Buttercup

**Author's Note:**

> * This is my second Princess Bride inspired fic. Maybe I have a problem?  
> * I didn't go back and re-watch the movie, so my lines may not be word for word from the movie. However, I didn't think that was vitally important to the story, so just be warned if you're a stickler for that sort of thing. But, obviously, there are parts of this fic taken directly from The Princess Bride. I own nothing from that book, movie, or from the TV show Once Upon a Time. I'm totally borrowing them to play with for a little while.

In this day and age of modern, independent women, you would think dreams of princesses, castles, and balls wouldn’t even enter girl’s minds anymore. And yet . . . how does one explain the continued popularity of Disney princesses? Sure, maybe some parents are playing into gender stereotypes, but plenty of moms in sensible suits making six figure incomes are more than willing to plop down 75 bucks for one of those top of the line dresses at the Disney Store. And even if some women try to deny otherwise, why are so many women still swooning over Mr. Darcy? (Or, secretly, Flynn Ryder, smolder and all.)

Emma Swan was no different. By day she hunted down scum bags in sensible knee high boots. But by night . . . Well, let’s just say she was no stranger to Ben, Jerry, or Mr. Darcy. (As for Flynn Ryder, she would deny that one to her dying breath. She had no kids, so she had no excuse for watching _Tangled_ to begin with).

But Emma’s favorite was _The Princess Bride_. Sure, Buttercup sometimes got on her nerves (What?! NOW you choose to pick up the damn branch! Help the man, girl!), but Emma couldn’t help but be moved by Westley’s utter devotion to her. Every time Westley declared to Buttercup that even death couldn’t stop true love, Emma would pause with her breath caught in her throat, spoonful of rocky road paused halfway to her lips. If only men like Westley were actually real.

Then she found out Disney princesses were, in fact, real. So were their princes. There really were fairy tales with true love and happy endings. But a real Westley? Doubtful. Until . . . there he was, the man in black. Lopsided grin, mesmerizing eyes, and a quick-witted tongue. She tried to suppress the schoolgirl fantasies, swearing even when she hauled him in for a kiss that it couldn’t possibly be as good as she dreamed. But the kiss was. And he was. What she had dreamed. “As you wish,” and everything. Even “death can’t stop true love; it can only delay it for a little while.” Yes, even Westley was real. Only his name was actually Killian Jones. And his more colorful moniker, instead of Dread Pirate Roberts, was Hook.

If she was living out her little fantasy, Emma should have anticipated a Prince Humperdink and a forced marriage at some point. Yet she hadn’t. They had done the whole death thing. A Prince Humperdink seemed rather anticlimactic. However, enter from stage right . . . Mr. Hyde.

Yeah, figures. Her Prince Humperdink was Mr. Freakin’ Hyde. I’ll take psychopaths for two hundred, Alex. Apparently, there was some prophesy about the child of the savior, so Hyde wanted to father it with her. Thankfully, his Victorian sensibilities required marriage first. Thank god.

Emma knelt in front of the door of her locked room, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she attempted to pick the lock with a hair pin. She may be Princess Buttercup in this little drama, but she wasn’t just going to sit around and wait. She had already tried her magic. Her non-existent magic, apparently. She wasn’t sure what Hyde had done, but she wasn’t able to use it. Just when Emma thought the lock had clicked open, a jolt sent her falling backwards onto her rear. Emma swore under her breath as she got to her feet. So much for picking the lock. She turned instead to the window. Bars. It was a stark reminder that she was being held captive in an asylum. No castles for Emma Swan. No sir. For her story, it was an asylum. Fitting.

Emma stood and began pacing; gnawing on her fingernails as she racked her brain for a plan. As she did, the door swung open. Emma lowered her hand quickly and squared her shoulders. No need to let Hyde see any nervousness or fear. Yet it’s a servant girl, not Hyde who shuffles into the room, a white wedding dress draped over her arm.

“Pardon me, Miss,” the maid says shyly. “I’m to get ye into yer gown and fix yer hair.”

Emma crosses her arms smugly over her chest. “I’m not putting that dress on because I’m not marrying the psycho.”

The maid – Mary, if Emma remembers correctly – looks around nervously. “The master told me ye would say that. He says he’ll put it on ye heself if ye refuse me help.”

Emma narrows her eyes, marches forward, and snatches the dress out of Mary’s hand. She knows, unfortunately, Hyde’s super-human strength from her run-ins with him in Storybrooke. “I’ll put it on myself,” Emma mutters. She stomps behind the dressing screen in the corner. “It also doesn’t mean I’m marrying him.”

Emma puts the dress on as quickly as she can, but needs Mary’s help in buttoning up the back. As the maid works the buttons, Emma speaks, a tilt to her chin. “Killian is coming for me anyway.”

Mary says nothing at first, simply steering Emma towards the vanity. Emma examines the dress as she sinks onto the velvet stool. Hideous. Huge. And the bows! What is this? _My Big Fat Greek Wedding_? Mary begins deftly working on her hair, a dreamy smile playing on her lips. “Yer pirate is rather dashing, Miss.” Emma meets Mary’s eyes in the mirror. The maid ducks her head before continuing, a blush coloring her cheeks. “Eyes like the sea after a storm . . .”

Emma gasps. This maid has never been to Storybrooke. So that means . . . Killian is here! This Mary girl has seen him (hence the blushing). Emma’s hand goes to her breast without thinking. Resting there, hanging from a chain around her neck, is the garnet ring Killian gave her in Camelot as well as the engagement ring he gave her just a week ago in Storybrooke. Emma had feared Hyde would take it, so she had slipped it onto the chain with the other ring. Luckily, the high Victorian neckline of the dress conceals them well. Emma smiles and exchanges a glance with the maid. He’s here!

Mary finishes with Emma’s hair. Though the dress is an over the top mess, Emma’s hair, thankfully isn’t. Mary has expertly pulled a little back from the sides and top with pins, letting the rest cascade in soft curls down her back. Mary lifts something from a mahogany box atop the vanity table and sets it on Emma’s head. A crown. Not a tiara. A full-on crown. Just like Princess Buttercup’s in the movie.

“Um . . . “ Emma wets her bottom lip. “Don’t you think it’s a little . . . much?”

“Oh, law, Miss!” Mary exclaims. “Yer a princess, Miss! And a bride. A princess bride.”

Emma suppresses a chuckle. The girl would think she was making fun of her.

Mary suddenly stiffens as Hyde strides into the room. She curtsies quickly, mumbling that the bride is ready, and hurries from the room. Hyde stands behind her, awkwardly placing his hands on her shoulders. “Nervous, my dear?”

Oh, so he wants to play out the whole scene? Fine. Emma knows it by heart.

“Why? Should I be?”

“I’m told bride’s often are.”

Okay, now this is just getting downright eerie. Still, Emma plays along. She rises smugly from the stool, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“I do not wed tonight. My pirate will come for me.”

              ****************************************************

Emma wonders at the crowd in the asylum chapel. Are these people here by force? Do they know she is marrying Hyde against her will? She tries to catch someone’s eye as she walks down the aisle, looking for a familiar face, or perhaps an ally. But everyone averts their eyes, avoiding her gaze.

When the priest steps forward, Emma half expects “Wuv, twue wuv” to come out of his mouth, but it doesn’t. He does wax on a little long about the sanctity of marriage. Rather ironic, if you ask Emma. Halfway through his spiel, Emma thinks she hears shouts in the corridors of the asylum. A grin lights up Emma’s face. She turns to Prince Hump – er – Hyde.

“There is my Killian, now.”

Hyde’s face, as usual, remains stony and impassive. “Impossible.”

Emma is really getting into the scene now. “Then why is there fear behind your eyes?”

“Do you have the rings?” the priest interrupts, and Emma can’t help the chuckle that bubbles up from her throat. She could have sworn he said “wings” instead of “rings.”

The sounds outside of the chapel grow louder. Not just shouts, but the sound of clanging steel. Perhaps the “woosh” and “twang” of arrows? A vein in Hyde’s forehead twitches. “Skip to the end.”

“Do you, Emma Swan –“

“Man and wife!” Hyde snaps through gritted teeth. “Just say man and wife!”               The priest shrugs. “Man and wife.”

Emma grins and winks at the priest as Hyde grabs her by the elbow and hauls her out of the chapel’s rear door. They head down one short corridor and Hyde opens the door to a room more opulent than anything she has yet to see in this dark, foreboding place. The honeymoon suite, apparently. How nauseating. Hyde shoves her inside. Emma stands in front of the doorway, smirking.

“You’ve never seen _The Princess Bride_ , have you?”

Hyde practically growls in frustration, slams the door, and locks it. She hears his heavy footfalls echoing away down the hallway.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Emma falls to her knees in front of the locked door, pulling a hair pin out of her wedding ‘do. She has just begun fiddling with the lock when she hears a voice behind her.

“Need a hand with that, love?”

Emma hasn’t even turned around yet when she cries out his name. “Killian!” She rushes to him, throwing her arms around his neck and covering his mouth with hers. She then peppers kisses across his face. "I knew you would come!”

Killian leans back with a smile on his face that quickly fades to a look of concern. “Am I too late?”

Emma laughs and shakes her head. “Hyde has obviously never seen _The Princess Bride_.”

A grin spreads across Killian’s face. “Ahhh, I see. Forgot the vows, did he?”

Emma beams up at him, her Westley. “Yeah. He’s a regular Prince Humperdink.”

Killian gives her his best smirk, pulling her even closer against him. “Well then, lass, to the Jolly Roger, shall we? If you wouldn’t mind.”

Pounding is coming from the other side of the door.

“But Killian, Hyde is blocking my magic somehow!”

Killian cocks an eyebrow. “You doubt me love? That was Regina’s mission. Now, poof away.”

Emma isn’t sure if the best line is “As you wish” or “I will never doubt again,” so she says neither and just flicks her hand. Sure enough, when the smoke clears, they are on the deck of Killian’s ship. She’s quickly enveloped in hugs from her parents and Henry. Regina shows her affection with snark, as usual. “What took you two so long? Were you testing out the bridal chamber?” Emma just rolls her eyes, smiles at Regina, and thanks her.

As they sail away, with the sun setting in the distance, Killian comes to her side. As he takes her in his arms, she’s reminded of a scene at the very end of _The Princess Bride_.

_In the history of kisses, there have been five rated the most passionate, the most pure._

_This one left them all behind._


End file.
